Mirror Image Madness
by WritePassion
Summary: It's a crazy alternative universe story. Maddie was smart enough to stay out of it!
1. Chapter 1

Definitely an AU story! None of these characters, real or imagined, are mine. I'm just trying to have some fun! Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Thanks to purdy again for giving me the name of the alternative TV show!

**Mirror Image Madness**

By WritePassion

The sigh over the phone line was deafening in his ear. "I'm sorry I don't have better news, Dave. We're dead in the water here."

"We start production in a week. Murray, why didn't anyone see this coming?" David Fox strode stiffly around his office, barely noticing the beautiful sunny Miami day. "What are we going to do? Tony's in town, Ian just got here today, I just talked to him on the phone before you called." He let out a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "I've got actors but no crew. How does that happen?"

"I'm sorry, David. Until this strike is over, there's not much we can do. Maybe it'll blow over in a week."

"And in the meantime I have contracts to fulfill, expenses..." He swung his arm in the air as if he were sweeping all that away. "Never mind that. Just talk to the union rep, see if they can make an exception. I mean, everybody loves Burned, right? They're killing our show!" He cut off the conversation and dropped into his chair. He was a young guy, in good health, but sometimes being the creator of a hit TV show could be the death of him. Like today. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair. Telling his actors they came all this way for nothing would not be pleasant. Fortunately some of them lived locally, but for the others... He figured he'd start with Ian Benton. He was a cool guy, laid back, and flexible. He probably wouldn't be too upset about having to fly back to Oregon to hide out in the mountains for awhile until things were settled here in Miami.

"Hello." Ian drew out the syllables, and David could tell he was already in Miami mode. Probably sitting by the pool enjoying the sunshine and a nice cold drink. David wished he could join him.

"Hey Ian, it's David."

"Dave! We just talked a little while ago. What's up?" Yeah, he was at the pool. David heard a splash in the background.

"I, uh, don't really know how to break it to you, but..."

"What. You're not killing me off, are you?"

"No way, Ian, I'd never do that. The show wouldn't be the same without Sam Axe." He said it and meant it. Ratings and fan mail don't lie. They had one of the best, if not the best, ensembles on TV.

Ian breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. So what's the deal?" He paused. "What's wrong, Dave?"

"What makes you think something's wrong?" He knew Ian could tell from the tense tone of his voice that not everything was right with his world. They'd had some pretty interesting conversations over the past six years and shared some intimate things. That was natural on a project where the crew became your second family after spending so much time together. David had come to think of both Ian and Rick Magnuson as brothers, the kind he could boss around when the cameras were rolling, but equals off set. Yes, Ian knew when there was trouble brewing in his life, and he always responded with concern and kindness.

"Come on, Dave. You can't BS me. Something's going on or you wouldn't have called. Just get it off your chest, and you'll feel better. Trust me."

David chuckled, but the sound didn't convey amusement. "Okay, you asked for it. We're shut down until further notice. There's a film production union strike, just the local branch in Miami. So until they get their act together and agree on a new contract, we've got no lights, no sound, no cameras, no action. Nothing." He groaned and ran a hand over his face. "I should really have a meeting with everyone about this."

"Well, we do have that kick-off dinner planned for Friday. Hey, maybe this'll get settled before then!"

"Maybe. I...I guess I just needed to tell somebody and maybe get some inspiration for how to work around this. If I don't come up with a plan, you'll have to go home for awhile until we're up and running again."

"I can stick around if you need me to, Dave."

"Thanks, but there's not a whole lot anyone can do. This is my own personal hell right now."

"Well, in any case, Leesa and I are here through the week. We'll see you on Friday, or before then if you want to talk."

David smiled. He could always count on Ian when he needed a friend. "Thanks, man. Now I'm gonna call Rick and let him know, and then I'll contact the others."

"Hey, Tony's staying here at the same hotel. I'll give him the scoop."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." David hung up the phone and took a long drag on his coffee. He wasn't sure why he was so scared to tell his actors about this terrible turn of events. They were all gracious people. It was because he felt as if he were letting them down. In the history of Burned, at the start of every new season his actors and crew arrived with the knowledge that everything was ready. All they had to do was study their lines, get in character, and magic happened. No magic this season if the union had their way.

"Magnuson," Rick answered the phone. His clipped tone told David he was in the middle of something, but he answered because he saw David's name on the caller ID.

"Rick, we have a problem."

Friday came, and all the actors knew about the strike as the picket lines formed in front of various studios and locations around the Miami area. One camped out right in front of the Burned studios, directly under David's window. He watched them, people he worked with sometimes seven days a week for eighteen hours a day. In some ways, he knew them better than his own family. And this was how they paid him back for his fairness and respect: marching around on the sidewalk, airing their grievances, most of which were never an issue on their set. Everyone in the local union knew that a Burned gig was a plum deal. But they dropped their loyalties and stomped on them right under his nose, all for the sake of their union brothers and sisters. It hurt more than he could say.

The intercom on his desk buzzed, and David reluctantly tore himself away from the window to answer it with a lack of enthusiasm. "Yes, Jessica?"

"Ian Benton is here to see you, sir."

"Oh boy," he muttered to himself. "Okay, send him in." He sat in his comfortable executive chair and waited for Ian to saunter in. He never knew what to expect when Ian walked into the room, but at least one thing was for certain: for a few minutes, his mind would be off his problems.

Ian entered with a grin that quickly faded as he got a good look at David. "Hey Dave...man, you look like you haven't slept in a week!"

"Yeah, that's probably true. Have a seat." He waited until Ian settled in before continuing. "This strike is just tearing me up. I'm sorry..."

Ian flapped a hand in dismissal. "It's not your fault these guys decided to get stupid."

"They didn't give you any trouble when you came in, did they?" He sat forward and rested his forearms on the desk.

"Nah, they were cool. It's not me they have a beef with. It's the upper echelon, although if you ask me, they're barkin' up the wrong tree here. They need to harass some of those other studios."

David managed a smile. "No arguments there. So, what'd you wanna see me about?"

"I think I have a solution for you." Ian grinned and crossed an ankle over his other knee. "You might think it's crazy, but hear me out on this."

"I'm all ears, because right now I'd listen to anything."

"How about if we move production to another city? Or..." He leaned forward and rested his arms on the edge of the desk as if he were about to tell David a secret. "We move it to the west coast?"

"No, I don't want to shoot in Lala land. They don't have the right vibe there."

"Yeah, I know that. What I'm thinking is this. Rewrite a few scripts, or hey, maybe write some new ones, that involve Michael, Fi, Sam and Jesse going to the Pacific Northwest on a mission. I've got all that natural, untouched land up there, and there are still a few sets left from that movie I made. It's perfect. And you know how much fun it is to hang out in Oregon at my place." He leaned back, threw an arm over the back of his chair, and added, "Besides, you start blowing up stuff, and the locals will think there's some homegrown militia training going on. It'll be a riot."

"That is the most...creative...idea I've heard yet." Personally, David thought it was a crazy idea, but maybe it might work. "Tell you what, I'll talk to the writers and see what they can come up with. It's worth a shot, huh? Because right now I've got no other alternative." David paused. As whacked out as it was, the idea was taking root and giving him hope. "I'll let you know." He tapped his fingers on the desk top. "Leesa won't mind, will she?"

"She loves the solitude as much as I do, but she'd be willing to take a few weeks of general craziness for the team. I know, 'cause we talked about it at lunch today with Rick, Tony, and Jacqueline. They all think it's a great idea. Stella's not so sweet on it, but when I promised her the snow was just about gone, she said she'd think about it."

"And what if I didn't agree?" David raised an eyebrow.

Ian laughed. "We were gonna just start without ya, man!"

Any other man might have blanched at the declaration, but David knew Ian's sense of humor. It was so much like his own. He laughed, and it felt good. He hadn't had much to feel good about that week. "Thanks, Ian. That made my day."

"I hoped it would. But I'm serious about moving production to my place. The offer stands. Oh yeah, and think about this, the extra costs of pulling up stakes will be offset by the fact that I won't be charging you to shoot on my property."

David grinned, again appreciating his sense of humor. "You're a real stand up guy, Ian."

He leaned over the desk and shook David's hand. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got a script meeting to go to. We're gonna put our noggins together and come up with something just in case you decide not to throw your hat in the ring."

David's laugh was lighter as he patted his friend on the arm. "You can hold off on that meeting. I'll just make a few calls to my writers, and they'll have something ready in a week. I guarantee it."

"Sounds great. See you tonight at the party? It's still on, right?"

Grinning, David replied, "Yeah, we're still on. See you all at seven."

The mood at the kick-off party was rather somber, not to mention that the affair was a lot smaller than normal. His heart sank when he walked into the banquet room to find none of the crew milling about, but then, he should have expected that. All the cast members came with their spouses, at least. He was hoping some of the writers could attend, but they were working hard on Plan B. His arm tensed and Susan squeezed it.

"Relax, David. We're here to have fun and get things started on a better foot."

"We should have cancelled this whole thing and had a barbecue or something." The empty tables were discouraging. Of the ones that were occupied, someone took two of them, moved them so they touched, and everyone sat around it as if they were circling the wagons against the indian onslaught.

"And there he is, the man with the plan," Rick Magnuson declared with a grin.

"Actually, it was Ian's idea, but..."

"Is it a go?" Tony asked as he sat back in his chair. They all waited expectantly for David's answer.

"The writers are on board and they're busy right now coming up with new plot lines. I'm working on hiring crew, and hopefully in a couple of weeks we'll be ready to shoot in Oregon. There's a lot that needs to be done first, but yes, Burned will be shooting season seven."

"Our lucky number," Ian said and raised his glass. A cheer went up around the tables, and for the second time that day, David felt a sprig of hope come to life in his chest. The crew was the backbone of the operation. Without them, the most brilliant cast in the world couldn't read a phone book and get screen time. But there were other crews elsewhere who were willing to work, and it was heartening to know that his actors felt such a sense of loyalty to him, and to the show, that they would welcome moving production across the country. David and his wife sat at the table and caught up with everyone and their off-screen lives. It was like family getting together for Thanksgiving, and it gave his spirits a kick. By the time the evening ended, everyone was excited for shooting to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

David boarded the plane and discovered that he shared the flight with Rick and Jacqueline. He would have liked to sit with them, but the flight was booked solid and they were all scattered about, so he took his seat and spent the time working on some script edits. He burned up cell minutes talking to Ian and Charlie, his new location manager. Ever since the ink dried on the new contract, a crew was working hard on Ian's property preparing sets, scouting locations, and doing all that tedious pre-production work that made Burned look so good. He was glad for their talents, because if he had to do it himself, he would be a nervous wreck. For two weeks, he'd spent late nights second guessing himself and having nightmares that the whole thing would fall apart. The only thing that kept him sane was the thought of the protesters' faces as he left the offices to head for the airport. They heard the news. It was impossible to keep it quiet, especially once the city of Miami discovered how much money they stood to lose because Burned was shut down in their town. Angry faces that registered betrayal stared at him. Well, if they hadn't turned their backs on him and betrayed the show, this never would have happened. They had only themselves to blame.

David smiled as he looked out the window and bid the sun goodbye. He knew the weather would be cloudy once they pierced the thick blanket below the plane, but he didn't expect to see a new cover of white over everything. "Oh crap," he whispered.

"Isn't it gorgeous? I love coming home to snow," the woman beside him said with a light tone as the wheels bounced on the runway once before hitting hard.

"I was told the snow was almost gone."

She shrugged. "Welcome to March in Oregon. You never know what you're going to get."

He rubbed his eyes and asked himself why he listened to Ian.

David spent just enough time at his hotel to check in, throw his suitcase down on the bed, and call his wife to let her know he made it okay. He tried to keep the tone of his voice positive, but there was no way he could hide his reticence. "I think I made the biggest mistake of my life agreeing to this."

"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic? You just got there! How bad can it be?"

David glanced out the window and saw a few flakes flutter to the ground. "It's snowing, Suze. It's snowing! It's like, what, 85 degrees in Miami right now?"

"Not exactly. It's 72. The sun went down and it got cold."

"Cold." He laughed thickly. "That is not cold. Thirty two is cold, and that's what it is right now. The bank across the street has a thermometer, and that's what it says!" He let out a long breath. "This was a dumb idea."

"Honey, it's all going to work out for the best. Just plow ahead...um...you know what I mean."

"If that was meant to be a joke, it wasn't funny."

"Sorry." The line fell silent for a few seconds. "Just relax, okay? After you left, Murray called. He said that the crews are talking about starting up negotiations again, so maybe this will be over by the time you get one episode in the can." He heard her smile over the distance. "Then you can bring Michael, Fiona, Sam, and Jesse...and Maddie...home."

His phone beeped, letting him know that another call was coming in. "Yeah, we'll see, honey. Keep me informed, okay?"

"Will do, sweetheart. We miss you."

"Miss you too. Give the kids hugs for me. I gotta get going. Love you."

"Love you too." The phone went dead, literally.

"Crap, I forgot to charge it." Grumbling under his breath, David searched his luggage for the charger, but he couldn't find it. He checked his carry on, but it wasn't there either. His shoulders slumped, and he glanced up at the ceiling as he muttered, "Okay, why is this my life?"

Discouraged, he left his gear in chaos, stuffed the phone into his pocket, and decided to head out to Ian's place. He owned an iPhone too, and no doubt he could bum a charge there. The snow was falling thick now, and the roads were icy. He wasn't well versed in driving in this kind of weather, since he was a SoCal boy, and with all the time spent in Miami, snow was a very rare commodity in his life. He probably irritated a couple dozen drivers, but he played it safe driving out of town and onto the rural road that would take him to Ian's wild, sprawling property. A small part of him had to admit that it was kind of pretty how the snow stuck to the evergreens, but he was too busy to study it. With the way the road curved, on a good day he would have to keep his eyes on where he was going. Today, he had both hands tightly gripping the wheel.

He missed the simple, nondescript entrance and cursed under his breath as he jammed on the brakes. Despite the anti-lock system, the light compact car fishtailed, and as he tried to straighten it, he unintentionally parked it in a ditch.

"Great! Just great!" He banged on the steering wheel in frustration before trying to back it out with no success. He turned off the engine, unlatched his seatbelt, and carefully opened the door and climbed out. The vehicle was at such a steep angle, nose first, which made it difficult to keep the door open and escape. But he made it. He slammed the door a little too hard, swiped a few flakes off his new winter jacket, and walked back to Ian's drive. He was glad he bought the jacket, because it wasn't like he could just walk up the drive a couple hundred feet and get to the front door in short sleeves.

It wasn't even paved and was more like a trail than a driveway; and he was wearing sneakers. The two ruts bore the tracks of several vehicles, and he got a little satisfaction when he saw a deep tire track to the side where a large pickup must have slipped off the beaten path. So he wasn't the only one with issues in this weather. As he neared the house, which he saw on an incline and tucked away behind the bare trees and some evergreens, he heard the sound of chainsaws, power tools, and hammering. He smelled the freshly cut wood. It was a sign of progress. Now, if he could just get some help to pull his rental car out of the ditch, maybe the day wouldn't end on such a sour note after all.

Up ahead, a pickup truck sat in the driveway. The garage was open, and an Outback and F-150 were housed inside. He decided to go towards the noise and approached the clearing to the right of the house where he found Ian and Charlie overseeing the work. They were appropriately bundled up for the weather in parkas, thick gloves, and heavy boots. Ian said something to Charlie, then turned. His face lit up at the sight of the show's creator.

"Hey, Dave, you made it! I was trying to call you earlier but you didn't pick up. I was starting to worry about you, like maybe you changed your mind about this." He looked beyond David and his brow furrowed. "Where's your car? Or did you take a taxi out here?"

His teeth were starting to chatter. "My car...is in a ditch...just past your driveway." The beauty around him almost made David forget his misery, until Ian brought up the missing vehicle. He should have held out for a 4x4, but he was trying to be frugal. Now it was costing him in pride, if nothing else.

Ian grimaced. "Yeah, if you miss the curve, it can be hard to get in here in this weather."

"Can someone get me out, or do I have to call a tow truck? Which I can't do because my stupid phone died and I couldn't find my charger!" He wanted to punch something, but he restrained himself.

"No problem, Dave. Follow me." He turned to Charlie. "Chucky, think you can handle things here?"

Charlie gave him a look. "Of course, Ian. I've got everything under control."

"Awesome. Okay, Dave, let's go rescue your car." Ian led David to the garage, and he got into the passenger side of a black Ford F-150. Ian expertly drove him back out to the road without a single slip, and David figured it must have been Charlie who slid off the path. A couple of cars on the main road passed by slowly, the drivers gawking at the vehicle in the ditch, and when they were safely past them, Ian pulled out onto the snowy road.

"That's it right there," David muttered, embarrassment staining his cheeks.

"Oh, that's not so bad. Look on the bright side, you missed the tree!" Ian pointed to a tamarack that was a little too close for comfort near the car's right fender. "See that nasty gash? That's where my son hit it once with his car. It wasn't pretty." He pulled the truck ahead of the car and put it into park. "I've got some ties that we'll hook up to the front end and slide it out of there like it's no big deal."

"Just be careful, it's a rental."

Ian waved a hand in dismissal. "No problem, Dave, I've done this before. You just get used to it." He paused and looked up from his work. "But if I were you, I'd get something a little more...solid...for driving around here."

"No wonder the rental agent looked at me funny when I insisted on something small because it was cheap. Now I know why it was such a bargain."

"Everybody has four wheel drive. That's just the way it is."

"But it's March. Shouldn't the snow be gone?"

Turning from hooking up the car to a couple of heavy duty nylon straps, Ian replied, "Dave, we're in the freakin' mountains. Snow happens. Not like the rest of winter, but yeah, we sometimes get snow until April or May, but that's pretty rare." He absently swiped a couple flakes off his nose before they melted. "I thought you planned for that in the scripts."

"Well, um...not exactly." He shrugged. "Hey, give me a break! Most of our writers are natives of areas that don't get this cold! They don't know how to write snow, and I didn't tell them to plan for it." He rubbed his forehead to try to stem the rising headache. "Why did I let you talk me into this?"

"Hey, it's not my fault. You're the one who said this was a...creative...idea. You liked it." He tightened the ends that were attached to the trailer hitch. "Okay, I'm ready to pull it out. You just have to steer. And make sure it's in neutral first, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. No problem." David got into the car, shifted it into neutral, and gave Ian the thumbs up.

The truck engine roared and the tires slipped on the snow, but he continued to slowly give it gas. The car's front end rotated around and up the embankment. All the while, David watched the rest of the body slide toward the tamarack. The gash mocked him, daring him to get closer. He cringed and waited for the distinctive crunch of pricey body work, but it didn't happen. The car followed the path the truck's tires blazed and soon it was free of the trap.

Ian left the truck running and hurried to undo the straps. "Think you can get that little peanut car into my driveway without another incident?" He winked at David to let him know he was just teasing him, but little did he know just how frazzled the poor guy was.

He just glared at Ian. "I'll have no problem." He didn't wait for him to put away the ties and get back into his truck. David turned the wheel sharply, slowly entered the drive, and carefully drove the lane up to the house. He parked in a cleared space next to the garage. Ian came barreling down the drive close behind and pulled into the open garage like it was no big deal to drive in snow. David remembered that Ian was a Michigander. He hated Michigan drivers. Showoffs.

"You know what, Dave? You look like you could use a nice warm fire and something hot to drink. Come on inside."

Okay, so this Michigander wasn't so bad. He smiled even as his shoes squeaked from the dampness caused by melting snow. "That's the best invitation I've had all day, let alone this week. Thanks."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After a couple cups of tea and some time sitting on the hearth in front of a stone fireplace with a crackling fire, David felt better. At least he was warm and dry. He stood at the window overlooking a beautiful snow-covered valley and watched the crew building a cabin in the bottom near a stand of evergreens. Because of the cloud cover daylight faded fast, so the workers hurried to finish anchoring a log before quitting for the day. The cabin would be the crux of the episode that they were scheduled to start filming in a few days. He was amazed at the speed with which they worked.

"Those guys build cabins like that all the time. They're pros," Ian told him. "They build 'em just like the pioneers, except they use power tools." He grinned.

"Pretty impressive work. I wasn't expecting them to build something that would last long after we're gone." David looked down into his empty cup, thinking that more tea would be good.

Without a prompt, Ian took his cup, retreated to the kitchen and returned with it filled. A tea ball stuffed with lavender steeped its home-grown goodness into the hot water. He'd never had anything like it before, and he silently hoped that he could take some home to Susan. She would love it. He yawned and realized that the three hour time difference was starting to catch up to him, not to mention the relaxing scent of the lavender. "Any idea on how long this snowfall is supposed to last?"

"The forecast is for snowshowers overnight, and by morning we should have a blanket of 2-3 inches of new cover. I think we already beat that, though."

David chuckled mirthlessly. "No kidding. Have you heard from any of the others?"

"Yeah, Rick's coming over tonight for dinner, and Jackie and Tony are planning on having dinner in town. Stella hasn't called me back yet. I think she's in the area, but I don't know for sure." He took a sip from his mug. "If she is, I think she's afraid to drive in this. Maybe you should get her a driver. Otherwise, either Leesa or I can pick her up."

"Nah, she's probably better off staying at the hotel until tomorrow. I wasn't planning on going over any business tonight. I basically just came out here to get my phone charged and see how the construction was going. Otherwise, I would have stayed at the hotel myself," he responded as he watched the big puffy flakes tumble from the lead gray sky. "I'd like to start some rehearsals tomorrow." He paused and glanced at Ian. "I hope you guys got the first pages of the script."

"Oh yeah, they came by FedEx yesterday, and I've been studying hard," he replied with a cocky grin.

"Oh, the FedEx guys can get through but normal guys like me..."

"It wasn't snowing yesterday. You shoulda been here. The sun was shining, it was in the 40s...a gorgeous day!"

"Figures."

"Man, I think you need something a little stiffer than that tea."

"Maybe later."

"But then I won't be able to let you drive, because if you can't make that curve sober..."

David couldn't help but laugh. "You've got a point. Whatcha got?"

While they waited for Rick to arrive, Ian took David out to meet the builders and he spent some time talking with them about how they constructed the cabin. He was a little concerned that they'd done it too well, because he had plans for the thing. Plans for its demise.

"Hey, um, how much of a charge do you think it would take to blow this thing up?" He finally built up the courage to ask.

" A charge? You want to pay us to blow it up?"

"No, explosives. How much would we need to reduce this thing to splinters?" The looks of horror on their faces were enough to tell him that he should have kept his mouth shut.

"You wanna destroy the cabin? Why?"

"Well...um...it's part of the show."

"The show."

"Yeah, haven't you guys ever watched Burned?"

One guy scratched his head as the others looked at each other with clueless expressions. "When's it on?"

"Thursday nights, on the American Network. On cable, or satellite, whatever you've got out here."

Heads bobbed as if they were one. "Oh, that explains it. Thursday nights are bowling nights, except when the league is over. And then we're watching the hunting and fishing shows and such. So nope, sorry, we've never seen it." The foreman, who introduced himself earlier as Buddy, added, "We all knew that Ian was some big actor, but we never thought he was the star of a TV show."

"One of the stars. It's an ensemble cast," Ian explained.

"An on...what?"

David shook his head. "Never mind. The point is, Burned is a show about a guy named Michael Westen. He used to be a spy, but then he got burned, meaning fired, and he's trying to get himself back in. In the meantime, he takes on these cases, and well, things usually get blown up or destroyed. It's just part of the fun."

The construction workers looked at David and Ian as if they were crazy. When the silence got too uncomfortable, Buddy replied, "Never heard of nobody blowing up stuff for fun. Around here, when things explode, they explode for a reason." He shrugged. "Okay boys, it's getting dark. Time to knock off. We'll be back to finish up the exterior tomorrow!"

"Thanks, fellas. You're doing a great job," David praised as the workers gathered up their tools, and headed away from the construction site. He didn't notice until then that they parked in the valley and left through a makeshift trail in the woods. What didn't escape his attention was that they all drove Jeeps and big four wheel drive trucks. Not one of them got stuck.

"Well, we better get back up to the house. Don't want you to freeze out here."

"I'm taking that piece of crap back to the rental agency tomorrow, first thing, and getting something more solid."

Ian slapped him on the back and grinned. "Now you're starting to think like a native!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

David rolled in the confined space and burrowed deeper under the covers. He wasn't used to relying on thick blankets to stay warm. Miami was like a dream, and he wished the strike would be over so he could go back. But the reality was, after his phone charged last night, he picked up several messages from Murray, his friend with a hand on the pulse of the union. Nothing had changed. In fact, his abandoning Miami with the cast left some ruffled feathers and threats. He had a few on his phone from people he didn't know. God only knew how they got his number.

Afterwards, everyone saw how down he was about the messages. The last thing he remembered was that he was on his third mojito...at least he thought it was his third...

The sound of running water made his eyes fly open. The sun pierced through the front windows and a beam settled right into his eyes like an ice pick boring into his brain. "Ohhhhhh." He groaned and threw an arm over his face as he realized that he was bundled up in a blanket and comforter on Ian's couch. The fire snapped and radiated warmth his way. If it were under better circumstances, he would enjoy it. But with a hangover the size of Portland...

"Mornin', sleepyhead!"

David pulled his arm away just enough to squint at Ian with one eye. "You...you've got to be kidding me. What happened last night?"

"We had dinner, and a few drinks. Guess things got a little out of hand for you." Ian looked contrite. "Sorry, I should have insisted and cut you off so you could get back to the hotel. But you were having a great time, finally relaxed..." He frowned. "I'll, uh, get you some aspirin for that headache."

Ian set a full coffee cup on the table in front of David and quickly disappeared. His footsteps on the wood floor faded away as David tried to sit up, but somehow he'd rolled himself into a cocoon of covers, and now he was wrapped up like King Tut. He almost threw himself off the couch trying to swing his legs to the side.

"Hey, woah there!" Ian gave him a steadying hand. "Is it safe for you to sit?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He pushed his arms out of the covers, grabbed the aspirin bottle from Ian's hand and shook out a few tablets.

"Hey Dave, I've been thinking." Ian took a seat beside him "Maybe you should just stay here for the duration of the shoot." He smiled. "Then you don't have to worry about navigating the twisting roads at night or anything. I mean, people who aren't from around here don't like driving at night. And if you're tired, it's even worse."

David smiled. Here was a guy who understood the long hours he invested in his creation. There were many nights in Miami when the cast and crew went home or out to party, and he was still working through storyboards, stunt coordinations, and consultations. Sometimes he slept in his office because he was so tired. Not having to navigate the twisting roads in the dark and possibly bad weather was a god-send. "Thanks, but...I don't want to put you guys out."

A serious expression crossed Ian's face. "Believe me, if you don't stay, Leesa...well, all I can say is, you'd have to tell her yourself. She was really worried about you last night, and I caught hell for letting you drink too much." He shrugged. "But, hey, that was yesterday. Today's another day!" He stood, reached for the fireplace poker and tended to the fire. "I don't think we'll need this for much longer. They're talking about the temperature getting up into the high 40s, and by the end of the week it should be in the high 50s. Just about time we want to start shooting! Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, fabulous." David tried not to glare at Ian's cheerful grin. He was in no mood right now. He just wanted to burrow into the covers again until his headache went away and he could sit up without feeling like he would lose his insides at any moment.

The smile wiped off Ian's face. "Hey buddy, let's get you to the bathroom."

As David lost what little he had in his stomach, Ian spoke through the closed door. "Frankly, I think everybody should stay here. We've got the room in the house if you and Rick bunk together, and Jackie and Stella can share a room. Then there's always the couch for Tony, unless you want it. You know how comfortable that thing is."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." He was too focused on his misery to care


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The weathermen were right. By the end of the week, the temperatures soared into the high 50s, the snow was melting, and it brought on a new set of challenges. With the thawing of the ground came soggy soil...and mud. The construction workers were gone, but their activities left a sloppy mess that used to be a lawn surrounding the cabin. What the snow didn't do, the mud completed in the destruction of his sneakers, which required a trip into town to get a pair of warm boots. With them, he could survive the shoot.

Rehearsals for the first scene were done that morning, and shooting went off without a hitch in the afternoon. Everyone was on the top of their game, getting their marks and lines in one or two takes. David sighed in contentment and smiled at the sun shining in the sky. A few puffy clouds covered it now and then, but it didn't matter. It was a great day.

"Okay, David, what do you think?" The director distracted him from his musings and pointed to the small video screen where they watched the previous take.

"Oh, yeah. Run it by me again." This time, he paid attention. "Yeah, it looks good, I say we go with it."

It was a good thing he said so. At that moment, Jacqueline, while walking through the mud field in front of the cabin, slipped and fell backwards butt first into the mess with a surprised shriek. Rick quickly reached down and helped her up, but her entire backside was covered in the gooey mess. The outfit was probably ruined. Rick did what he could, whisking the mud from her behind, but everyone could see it was a lost cause.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks. But that mud is cold!" She shivered a little and slipped again.

Rick and David both grabbed her, but it was too late. She took both of them down into the mire.

"Aw, Jackie!" Rick exclaimed in disgust.

She laughed, scooped up a handful of mud, and flung it at him. It hit him in the eyes.

"Good thing I blinked," he sputtered. A glob of muck flew from his hand and hit David squarely on the side of the face.

"Hey, watch it, Magnuson!"

In seconds, the mud was flying everywhere and the crew got involved. Little did anyone know that Ian watched from the sidelines shaking his head at the lunacy. He muttered to the first cameraman, "Shoot it, Chris It'll be great footage for the gag reel."

Chris chuckled. "You got it, man." Within seconds, the man with the steadycam was down near the edge of the quagmire, catching every dirty moment and dodging the occasional glob thrown his way.

A heavy sigh escaped David as he laid down his phone. Now he had something else to pick at his brain. It was a good thing they had their little mud slinging fest that afternoon, or he would have been wound so tight after that phone call, he would have needed some more of Ian's mojitos. A cup of lavender tea sufficed.

"Thanks, Lees," he said as Leesa handed him a mug and sat in a chair kitty corner to him. "Where's Ian?"

"He's out chopping some wood. We let the woodpile get low in the spring, but this year, we've needed it longer." She curled her slippered feet under herself and wrapped her hands around her cup. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, just fine. Except for the fact that Stella's husband Dick called. She's got bronchitis really bad, and that's why she hasn't made it to town."

"Good thing her scenes haven't come up yet. How long will she be out of commission?"

David shrugged. "Two weeks, three. At the minimum two." He shook his head and muttered, "If she didn't smoke like a chimney, she'd probably get over it sooner. Jeez, the one time I wish she wasn't a chain smoker!"

"Yeah. Well, can you write the plot around her?"

"We'll have to." He laid his head back on the couch and looked up at the rough hewn wood beams and plaster ceiling. "We've got no choice."

One of the French doors opened and a cool breeze rushed through the living room. "Ian, close that door! It's cold out there!"

"Sorry, babe, I only have two hands." He used his foot to close the door and cut off the chilly air. She grimaced at him, but he ignored it. He knew she hated when he put his boot print on the wooden door, but it was either that or she froze until his hands were free. As he moved past his wife's chair, he noticed the look on David's face. "Uhoh, what happened?"

"Stella's out for the next couple weeks or so. Bronchitis."

"Nice," Ian muttered sarcastically as he knelt and arranged the split wood in the hopper. "I guess it's back to the old drawing board, huh, Dave?"

"Yeah. I better call the writers, see what we can do about this. Fortunately, Stella isn't in the episode we're shooting right now, so we've got a little time to come up with something." David stood, stretched, and checked the power level on his phone. "'Night all."

"'Night, David. Don't stay up too late," Leesa admonished softly. "Don't want you getting sick, too."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

One plus to staying at Ian's house was the fact that it was quiet at night. David imagined in the summer there would be sounds of crickets and critters moving about in the dark, but in late winter/early spring, with the windows closed, it was eerily serene. He lay awake listening to the house crack and the central heat kick on. The air pushed out of the heat register in a soft whoosh with a slight whistling. As he focused on the sound, the whistling increased, accompanied by a distinct sound of an engine, a jet engine if he wasn't mistaken. He sat up straight and cocked an ear. Whatever it was, it sounded as if it were nearly overhead.

David pushed the covers off his legs and rushed to the window. As he looked up, a large shape slipped over the house. Red lights blinked on the wings. It was flying way too low, enough to shake the house with its jet wash as it passed overhead. It was a small plane, probably no more than ten seats in the cabin, but it could have been a two seater and it wouldn't have made any difference. The plane was going down quickly. He turned to the other side of the bed where Rick should have been sleeping, but it didn't look as if he'd occupied it yet. The hands of his watch glowed 12:30. He shoved his feet into slippers, shuffled off to Ian and Leesa's room, and pounded on the door.

"Ian! Wake up, man!"

He heard a dull thud, and the door flew open. "Dave, did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I saw it. It was a small plane, about the size of a Lear jet, I think."

"It went down."

"Yeah."

"It didn't blow up, though." Rick stopped at the top of the stairs. "I was out stargazing when it went over, and I watched it. It's over that..." He turned until he faced the right direction and pointed. "That way."

"But it didn't burst into flames or anything?" Ian slipped into a pair of jeans behind the half closed door.

"No. I say we go out there and see what we can do."

"I'm with you, Rick. Dave?"

"Yeah...hang on, I just gotta get some clothes on." David hurried to his room and took very little time getting himself prepared for hiking through the mud and snow. He trotted downstairs and found Leesa and Jackie dressed and waiting with Rick, Tony, and Ian.

"Okay, let's do it, but I think the girls should stay here." Rick declared as the men took flashlights from Ian.

"Why?"

"Jackie, Rick's got a point. There are bears out there and other wild animals. They start to come out of hibernation about this time of year." Ian crossed the room and opened up a cabinet, pulled out a rifle, and loaded it. "This is for just in case."

"Hey, what about us, don't we get any hardware?"

David was always a little concerned about his actors when they worked with fake firearms on the set, but they were all trained in their use and how to handle them safely. Tony seemed a little too eager to get the real thing in his hands, especially a rifle that, in this case, was loaded for bear.

"Sorry, I've only got the one. I don't hunt with it, it's just for...well, times like these. Come on, let's go." They went through the French doors to the deck, and Ian spoke to Leesa, "Lock up and call if you see anything." She nodded, and they went out into the night.

"How far away did it crash," David asked as he swept a flashlight beam around the trees.

"Just beyond the timberline over there," Rick answered and pointed to the grouping of evergreens in the valley. They slipped through the mud that hadn't frozen yet and kept walking. It was strange that there was no smoke or fire to act as a flare. The fact that it was quiet, too quiet, also got their attention. As they neared the trees, they noticed the tips of some of the evergreens were broken.

"We're on the right track," Ian said and pushed forward into the woods.

It didn't take long for them to find wreckage. Pieces of it led them to the fuselage. A mangled wing hung precariously in an oak tree, and the other stuck out of a gash it created in the dirt while clipping off some smaller trees at the soil line. Metal pieces, parts of seats, cargo, and interior trim lay scattered around the final resting place.

"Wow, what a mess." Tony exclaimed, slightly out of breath. He still wasn't used to the higher altitude. While Ian's property wasn't extremely high in the mountains, compared to Miami, it was enough to cause someone used to sea level to huff a little while exerting himself.

"The cockpit is crushed." Rick reported as he picked his way through the debris. "The pilots are dead."

"Jeez. Could anyone have survived this," David questioned as he swept the side of the plane with the light, looking for a way to get into the cabin. "Hey, the fuselage is cracked over there, right about where the wing used to be."

They moved forward to the fissure in the hull. Ian pushed his flashlight through and swung it around. "Okay, we've got one, two, three, four...four passengers in there."

"Are they alive?"

"Not sure yet." Ian tried to squeeze through the narrow space, but it was impossible. "We need something to widen this."

"I've got an idea," Rick replied as he found a branch so thick, it took all of them to pick it up. They pushed it through the crack half way. "Okay, now everybody push on this end. If we can bend the metal, maybe we can get inside."

They tried, but even with the four of them it was no use. "I have a better idea," Rick said as he glanced at David. "Dave can fit through there while we press on the opening and try to give him a little more room, and then he can open the emergency exit from inside he plane."

"Sounds like a plan," Tony agreed. "Let's do it." They pushed as hard as they could and when the metal gave way a little more, David was able to slide inside. Within seconds he had the emergency exit open and they entered the destroyed cabin.

"This guy's alive," Ian announced as he checked the pulse point on a man about his age. "He's got a head injury, and this side of the plane is crushed in on these guys. Can someone give me a hand here?"

"These two are alive, a man and a woman," David announced from the row ahead on the right side of the plane that was less damaged, and close to where they entered it. "Hey!" He snatched his hand back from the hand that grabbed him. "He's conscious!" He flashed his light at them, and they both raised their hands against the glare.

"Do you mind?"

"Sorry! I...I just didn't expect anybody someone grabbing me, that's all." He eyed the two. "What are your names?"

"Michael." The dark haired man blinked. "Michael Westen." He turned his head and glanced at his companion. "This is Fiona Glenanne. Hey, Sam...Jesse... are they okay?"

The actors' and creator's jaws dropped as they stared at the couple and glanced at each other. Finally, Rick spoke with a tone of disbelief. "You're Michael Westen."

"Yes." He dabbed at a trail of blood rolling down his temple with his fingertips. David passed Michael a clean handkerchief, which he lightly pressed to the cut on his forehead. "Thanks."

"Wait, don't tell me, you used to be a spy..."

Michael gaped at Rick. "H-how did you know that? I don't know you."

"This has got to be somebody's idea of a sick joke," Rick exclaimed. "I've heard of crashing a set, but this...this beats all!"

"Rick, I don't get what's going on but I know one thing. These two guys back here need some attention." Ian declared with a serious tone.

"Sam? Jesse?" Michael stood a little too quickly and his knees buckled. David and Tony caught him.

"Woah, take it easy there, man." Tony kept a grip on Michael as he passed between them and up the aisle to the crushed area of the plane. Fiona followed unsteadily, but she appeared to be unharmed.

"I think we should call for help," David said as he pulled out his cell phone.

No one expected Michael to reach out, grab the phone from him and hold it with an iron grip. "Nobody's calling anyone for help. We can do this alone."

"What? Are you crazy?" Tony questioned the guy.

"If he's really a former spy, it makes sense that he wouldn't want any attention," David replied calmly. The whole scene was so surreal, he was having a hard time believing that he wasn't dreaming. It would certainly make an interesting episode of Burned. In the morning, he'd have to call the writers and bring it up to them, see what they thought of it.

The men worked to free the two that Michael referred to as Jesse and Sam. With all their brute strength, and some wrenches that Ian ran to get from his garage, they were able to pry the jagged metal away enough to loosen the seats and pull them out from under the debris. Through it all they were still unconscious.

Fiona stood with Michael, fiddling nervously with her necklace and shivering in the cold. None of them wore winter jackets. Wherever they were before this happened, it was a lot warmer, judging by the light clothing they wore.

"Where were you all headed?" David asked as he put a blanket that he found in the cabin over Fiona's shoulders.

"Thank you. We...we were headed to Seattle. One minute we were dozing, and the next, the plane dropped out of the sky like a stone." She turned toward the cockpit. "The pilots..."

"They're dead," Rick answered.

"Oh." Fiona's one word was filled with sadness for the two who didn't survive.

Rick asked, "Okay, we've got them free. How are we going to take them to the house?"

"I'll get the truck." Ian pushed through the exit and called back, "You guys work on stabilizing them and getting them out to the clearing."

"Stabilizing them. What's he mean by that," Tony asked, shrugging his shoulders.

Michael knelt beside his friends crammed into the aisle. He checked their vitals and replied coolly, "Find some blankets. We'll bundle 'em up against this cold. Jesse's going into shock, and Sam isn't far behind."

By the time Ian returned with the pickup truck, they waited in the clearing. Under Michael's direction, using some branches and parts of an inflatable raft, they constructed two stretchers to carry Jesse and Sam out of the woods. Michael and Rick took Sam, Tony and David carried Jesse, and Fiona brought up the rear, carrying their luggage that she salvaged from the wreckage. The men loaded up the truck, and there was barely enough room in the large bed for everyone, so Michael and Fiona sat in the cab with Ian. As soon as everyone settled into the bed, Ian put the truck into gear and carefully drove over the uneven ground. He took the path that the construction crew cut into the woods because it was easier on the injured. Worried that the truck might get stuck in the mire, he kept his speed slow and steady, and they made it out without incident, but once the truck was on the road, he kicked it up a little to get back to the house quickly. It was a cold night, and the two injured men would not be helped by suffering from exposure.

Michael sat with his head back on the couch and waited patiently while Fiona applied a couple of butterfly bandages to the cut on his forehead. The warmth of the blazing fire felt good on the outside, and the hot coffee warmed him down to his core. He was glad that Fiona came out of this with nothing more than a bruise on her elbow where she hit the bulkhead when the plane impacted with the ground. Sam and Jesse...he worried about them. Neither had come to yet, which was not good. He glanced at his watch and noted the time. With the three hour time difference discounted from the hands on the dial, it was only a couple hours since they crashed. But that was two hours too long for his friends to be unresponsive.

Ian came down the stairs and stood before Michael and Fiona, blocking the fire's warmth. "Your friends...they've got some serious head injuries. They really belong in a hospital. If you'd just..."

"No, no hospital," Michael interrupted and sat up straight, ignoring the temporary blurry vision the abrupt action caused.

"What have you got against the hospital?" Ian narrowed his eyes at them. "Are you guys on the run or something?"

"Ian, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Who runs from the cops in a jet that must have cost a quarter of a million dollars," Tony asked with hands on hips. "Jeez, you're on a spy show, you should have learned to think like one by now."

"I think it's completely plausible that they stole it as part of their escape. Our characters steal stuff on the show all the time. Do you really think it would be beyond Michael Westen's ability to steal a plane? If he's the real Michael Westen, that is."

Everyone noted the resemblance between themselves and the strangers. Yet no one would admit outright that they could really be who they said they were. David turned to Michael and Fiona, and his gaze bored into them. "We wanna know the truth. Who are you really, and what brought you out here?"

"We are who we say we are, and we were just on vacation," Michael interjected and stood carefully. " A friend let us borrow his jet, and we were flying from LA to Seattle."

"And we were going to take a train back home," Fiona chimed in as she wrapped her arms around one of Michael's to help steady him. "Only our plane..." She shook her head, throwing off the memory of the crash. "Michael, I think someone tried to kill us."

"Now why would anybody want to do that? You seem like nice enough people," Leesa scoffed.

"It's...complicated." Michael grimaced and sat down again.

"Well, we're all wide awake thanks to this high-octane java Leesa made," David raised his cup to her and smirked. "You might as well spill it all, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"You'd never believe it."

"Hey, I'm David Fox, creator of Burned. You wanna talk tall tales, I don't think there's a whole lot that could surprise me." He smiled. "We've got a former intelligence officer on staff to consult when we need help with a plot twist or two. I've heard all his stories. Now I want to hear yours. If you're really Michael Westen."

Michael reached into his back pocket, slowly pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open to reveal his drivers license and CIA key badge. "Is that proof enough?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Michael and Fiona were asleep, curled up in Ian and Leesa's bed. The bedroom was on the west side of the house, so the morning sun didn't bother them. Sam and Jesse took up Jackie's bed, and their hosts sat up talking while David, Rick, Tony, and Jackie all crashed in the last bed and on the floor. Eventually, Leesa succumbed as well, but Ian was too worried about the two injured men to sleep, and every now and then he checked on them. He was an actor, not a doctor, but what little he did know told him that they should really be in a hospital. Michael was adamant that they stay put, and after he broke down and told them everything, Ian couldn't blame him. If the whole tale was true. It was like listening to a real live version of Burned, and the really crazy thing about it was that the characters they played on TV were in his home, authentic, flesh and blood. The actors bore an uncanny resemblance to the real Michael, Fiona, Sam, and Jesse, which made it all the more surreal. It was almost like looking in the mirror.

Ian heard footsteps moving laboriously down the stairs. He slowly turned, trying not to wake Leesa, whose head lay in his lap, her body taking up two thirds of the length of the couch.

"Sam. You're awake!" Ian spoke softly. It was pretty strange to be talking to himself, sort of.

"Do I know you?" With an expression that communicated his disorientation, Sam glanced around the room, and as he reached the bottom of the staircase, he stared at the man who spoke to him. "Where are we?"

With one hand, Ian scooped Leesa's head off his lap, slipped off the couch, and let her fall gently onto the cushion. He placed his cold cup of tea on the coffee table and approached the real life spy with a gentle smile meant to put Sam at ease. "You're in my home." He slowly stuck out his hand. "My name's Ian Benton. I'm an actor."

"Sam Axe."

"Yeah, I know." Ian grinned. "You're not gonna believe this, but..."

"How'd we wind up here? Are we anywhere near Seattle?"

"Nope. You're not far from Medford, Oregon. It's a little town in the southern part of the state. Your plane crashed..."

"Michael...Fi..."

"They're okay. They're asleep in our bed. Was Jesse awake when you got up?"

"No. I thought he was sleeping." Sam stretched and looked around the small living room. "Nice place, real cozy but kinda... normal. For an actor, you sure don't live the pretentious lifestyle."

Ian shrugged. "Nah, when you live long enough trying to make ends meet, and you finally get that big paycheck, you've learned to live without a lot of stuff. It's simpler that way, and that's kind of why we moved out here. Away from Hollyweird and all the madness. The fans can't find me, and it's quiet. I love it."

"Except for the planes dropping out of the sky." Sam replied with a smile. "Sounds like you've got it made. I could go for a place like this, except in Miami."

"You remember what happened." Ian's expression lightened.

"Yeah."

"Hey, you want some coffee or something?"

"Thanks, that'd be nice." Sam took a chair at the tiny round table in the small kitchen and waited for Ian to pour him a cup of coffee.

"Michael told us about who you guys are." Ian placed the cup in front of him, set the tea kettle on to boil, and laid his own cup on the counter before sitting down across from Sam. "You wanna know what's really funny? We play you guys on TV! How weird is that?"

Sam cocked his head and stared at him. "What?"

"Yeah, we're all on this show called Burned, Rick, Tony, Jackie, and me."

"Who do you play? Don't tell me they cast you as Mike."

"Heck no!" Ian laughed. "I play...you."

Studying him intently for a few seconds, Sam responded, "There's a slight, and I mean really slight, resemblance between you and me."

"I hope that means I'm better looking," Ian joked.

"Yeah, you wish." Sam took a sip from his cup, savored the flavor, and swallowed. "That's some good coffee."

"It's organic. Makes a huge difference, at least that's what my wife says. I'm more of a tea drinker." Ian stood, rinsed his cup in the sink, and prepared a tea ball for seeping. "Now this, this is something you've gotta try if you like tea. It's our own blend."

"No thanks, this'll do just fine." Sam took a longer swallow and held the cup in both hands. "So, now that we're here, what do we do?"

Ian shrugged and returned to the table, bobbing the tea ball in his cup. "I think the first priority is getting Jesse up and around. Fiona seems to be okay, just a bruise. Michael probably has a concussion, but not unlike the character that Rick plays, he's too stubborn to let us take anyone to the hospital for a checkup." He let out a deep breath. "Look, I can make some calls. I know somebody who'd be willing to make a house call and keep things on the down low."

"That would be great, 'cause I don't think this happened by accident, and the less attention we get, the better off we are."

Ian stared at him. "That's what Fiona said last night. Do you have any idea who could have caused the plane to crash?"

Sam shook his head and immediately regretted it. He clamped a hand against the side of his head and groaned. Then he grumbled, "This is worse than a hangover."

Ian pulled the aspirin out of a cupboard and set it in front of him. "Looks like we'll be using a lot of this around here for awhile."

Once Sam felt more alive, he went to check on Jesse. Ian hung back, watching from the door as Sam perched on the edge of the bed and spoke to the unconscious man. He didn't respond, so Sam patted him lightly on the cheek. That got a muffled groan out of him, so Sam tapped harder. Jesse's eyes slowly opened.

"Hey man, you don't have to go beatin' me up. I'm awake! Jeez!" He groaned again and rolled to his side. "I feel like I went ten rounds, man. Every part of me aches."

Sam glanced at Ian with a small smile on his face, and returned his attention to Jesse. "We were just getting worried about you, Jess. You've been out all night."

"No, I got up during the night to take a leak. I'm good. Really."

"Is that what that gash on your arm is telling you?" He bypassed the bandage on Jesse's bicep and placed a hand on his friend's forehead. "You're a little warm."

"I'm covered up like an Eskimo, of course I'm gonna be warm!" He threw aside the covers and snuck off the bed on the opposite side. "Jeez, Sam, you sound like my mama or something! I'm fine!" He stumbled, but Ian was there to help steady him with a hand on his good arm. "Hey, who's this guy?"

"He's me, sort of." Sam grinned mischievously, as Jesse divided his attention between him and Ian. They could see the resemblance made him think he must have taken a good blow to the head. "He's an actor on a show that depicts us. Yeah, some guy named Tony plays you, Rick plays Michael, and Jackie plays Fiona. That's about right, isn't it, Ian?"

"Yeah. Isn't that a trip?"

Jesse's eyebrows knit together as he studied Ian. "Yeah, he's like...wow...you guys could be twins or something. He's better looking, but hey, he's an actor. They're supposed to look good."

Sam scowled, taking offense at Jesse's words. "Hey, I can look good. Take Chuck Finley for example."

Ian's head whipped around. "Chuck...Finley? You have a Chuck Finley alias too?"

Sam's eyebrow quirked up. "Yeah. What of it?"

"I...we...use that alias on the show."

Sam whistled and said, "This is getting weirder by the minute!"

"You're telling me," Jesse exclaimed. "I can wake up any time now."

"I've been thinking that since my first cup of joe, and it hasn't worked yet." Sam gave Jesse a smirk. "Let's face it Jess, we're not in Kansas anymore."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

When everyone was up for the day and the doctor arrived and declared that their real life spies would be fine, nothing a little rest couldn't cure, Ian felt more comfortable with their situation. A trip into town got their guests all better outfitted for the weather. But now, it was time to get back to business, so everyone went outside and while the actors worked, the spies observed the filming. Michael and Fiona took up position in a wooden glider, his arm protectively around her. Sam and Jesse found a couple chunks of wood that made perfect stools, while the actors had their own chairs with their names on them. They watched in fascination at the bustle as the crew prepared the set. The actors huddled around a camera and watched the dailies from yesterday on a small screen, while David covered what they would be shooting that day. In the beginning it would be closeups and angle shots. Then they would shoot dialogue over shoulders and such to add dimension to the scene when everything was put together later. All in all, it was a very boring morning for Michael Westen and his team, but the inactivity was a welcome change.

"I'm glad I never became an actor," Jesse declared a little too loudly.

"Cut." The director glared at him.

He winced. "Sorry, man, won't happen again."

"It better not. Alright, let's take it from the top."

The young guy with a clapboard ran into the scene. He held the board up in front of Ian, announced the take, slammed the clapper down, and Ian said, "Mark."

"Action." This time, no one made a peep except for the actors. They ran through the scene several times until David took the director by the elbow, whispered something to him, and he stopped asking for more takes. "Okay, let's get a few more secondary shots."

Once it was safe to speak again, Jesse said, "I don't know about you guys, but this wasn't exactly the way I wanted to spend my vacation. Right now, I'd like to be in Seattle."

"No, Jesse, as dull as you may think it is around here, this is the perfect place for us to be right now. Nobody suspects a thing, so there's no attention on us."

Just beyond the trees, in the woods, he saw one of the plane's landing gear mashed up against a tree. It was odd that none of the local crew said anything about the wreckage, because in the daylight it was clearly visible from where they sat. They probably chalked it up to a really good set dressing, that it was part of a script.

"We should get out to the plane and look it over. Maybe we can find a clue as to who did this and why," Jesse replied as he scanned the horizon.

Fiona spoke. "There must have been a flight plan, and by now somebody in Seattle had to have contacted the FAA to inform them that they lost the plane off the radar. In time, someone's going to come looking for it at the last place the transponder blipped."

"True, unless someone disabled the transponder." Michael shook his head. "I wish one of the pilots had survived. I'd like to pick his brain and find out what went on in the cockpit."

"We could always find the black box and hack it," Sam suggested with a smile.

"I like where you're going with this, Sam." Jesse grinned as he stood and rubbed his hands together. "Anybody up for a walk in the woods?"

After some digging around the wreckage, they found the black box. It was heavy for such a small thing, and it took two of them to carry it back to the house. Fiona and Sam worked all afternoon and borrowed Ian's laptop to get into the box and siphon off its treasure. After supper, they were ready to listen to the tape.

"It's a little garbled in spots, but we downloaded some software to clean it up," Sam explained to Michael and the others. He glanced at Ian. "Man, what kind of an internet connection do you have out here, anyway? It took an hour just to get 50 megs downloaded! Sheesh!"

"It's dial-up." Ian replied defensively. "What do you expect? We're in the middle of next to nowhere!"

"My sympathies," Sam countered with a frown and turned back to the computer. He tapped a few keys and a window popped up with a wavy line. It moved as they listened to the recording. No one said a word, and as the minutes passed, they grew more and more uneasy about what was on the tape.

"Michael, I was right. Someone was trying to kill us!" Fiona whispered when the sounds of the crash filled their ears. "Those pilots, they were in on it!"

"And as I suspected, they killed the transponder before we even left LA, so nobody knows where we are," Michael added. "Especially if they figured out a way to block their signature on radar."

"I'm betting they filed a fake flight plan, too," Sam added. "For all anybody knows, we could have been going to Vegas. They've probably got government agencies scouring the Nevada desert."

"It was the perfect plan, except they didn't take into consideration that the plane might not disintegrate like they hoped," Jesse said as he crossed his arms in front of himself. "If we'd crashed in that valley, without the trees cushioning the fall, we might not have been here to talk about it."

"They tried, but thank God they failed," David declared.

"Worried about your set?" Michael eyed David with a cool expression.

"No. I'm glad that none of you were seriously injured. I mean, this has been pretty awesome meeting people who my characters mirror." He smiled sheepishly. "I suppose you're going to want to leave now and get on the trail of whoever did this."

"Oh, I have some ideas," Michael smiled thinly. "But we did come for a vacation, and the people who did this are going to lay low for awhile, waiting for intel on whether or not we were killed. I think in a few days you're going to see some strangers moving around these woods. We'll take advantage of the situation, lay low and relax, and be here to welcome them."

Ian stopped in mid slurp. "What are you talking about?"

"I found a transponder on the plane, but it wasn't...regulation. Someone was tracking us, just not the air traffic control people." Michael stepped forward as he glanced around the small, yet open concept living area. "I know it's kind of crowded around here, but could we stay for a few days until we're certain that this problem is neutralized?"

"Sure. We'll manage. We've got plenty of room, we'll just get some air mattresses and everyone can camp out on the floor." He watched Michael pace the floor as he filled out their plan. He really was Michael Westen, and Ian felt a little thrill to be in the same room with a guy that David unwittingly crafted for a TV show and who turned out to be real. Being in the business, actors didn't generally get giddy about superstars. They were more likely to just scoff and say they could have done it better. But this guy was something else, and he was proud to host him and his friends for the duration of their investigation.

"I guess I better make a run into town," Leesa declared and got off the couch. "Jackie, Fiona, wanna come along?"

Ian held up a hand. "Is it a good idea for Fiona to go?"

"People will think she's just part of the film crew," Jackie suggested with a smile. She was looking forward to spending more time with her counterpart. In less than 24 hours, she'd already picked up on some of Fiona's nuances, like how she stood or walked across a room. Jackie even styled her hair like Fiona's. She was becoming her model.

"It would be safer if Ian and I went alone," Michael declared with a no-nonsense tone. There would be no discussion, and everyone knew it.

"Okay, Mike, let's put our heads together and come up with a list for the store," Ian suggested as he pulled out a pad of paper from the desk where Sam had the laptop set up. "We'll go into town to get the stuff, and everybody else just sit tight until we get back."

Michael stared at Ian for a moment. Very few people called him 'Mike', Sam being one of them. Having his friend and the actor who portrayed a facsimile of him in the same house was sure to be a challenge, since he thought they bore an amazing resemblance to each other. He glanced at Fiona and Jackie, and as the actress took on more of his girlfriend's characteristics, Michael was sure that he would get himself in trouble for mistaking the two. This was madness! They really shouldn't bother these people. They should go into town and hole up. Still, he couldn't help satisfying a secret desire to hang around for awhile to see how these people depicted them on-screen. He'd heard of their show but never watched, and he had a feeling it would be very educational, but whether for him and his friends or the actors, he wasn't sure.

"Hey, Mike. You okay?"

Michael had to give him a good look before replying, "I'm fine, Sam. Ian and I will go into town. We're going to need some firepower just in case, and Ian's pea shooter won't be enough."

"Yeah, well I'm not big on guns and hunting. It's just here to scare off the bears when they get too close to the house." Ian stopped and put on a thoughtful expression. "But if you're looking for some serious hardware, I know just the place to get it."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Michael was never impressed with movie stars. He thought they were just a bunch of blowhards with inflated egos who weren't worth the air they breathed. But Ian and his cohorts were different, and Ian himself blew all his misconceptions out of the water. He admired the guy for his down to earth attitude and lifestyle, and he was no-nonsense enough to have a healthy skepticism about Michael's story. But when given enough proof, he accepted and welcomed them into his home. He treated them like friends, which they quickly became. It didn't hurt that their quarters were so close and people were bumping into each other all the time. But it felt like family, and he was okay with that.

Their trip into town netted them enough groceries for a week and Ian led him to a place off the beaten path where Michael could get his hands on some serious weaponry, no background check necessary. He still couldn't believe that he'd found everything he needed, paid cash, and the guy who sold it to him never batted an eyelash.

Apparently, Ian knew what he was thinking. "Yeah, that's the way things are here in Oregon. People like to arm themselves like there's an invasion coming. And then there are people like me who just want peace. Peace and quiet, that's why we're here. It's a very bizarre dichotomy." He glanced to the right, saw the sunset over the trees, and sighed deeply. Pointing toward the sight, he added, "That's another reason. Isn't that gorgeous?"

Michael was used to Miami sunsets and didn't think they were anything special, but as he followed Ian's line of sight and took in the vibrant hues of orange and pinks painting the bushy evergreens and bare tree tops, he realized that he was wrong. Sunsets, no matter their location, were beautiful. "Yeah, that's really nice."

"Somehow, I figure a guy like you doesn't take the time out to look at stuff like that."

He shivered slightly and eyed Ian. How right he was. "I'm usually too busy."

"Then you really do need a vacation!"

Michael laughed. "It's all Sam's fault. He dragged me into this."

"I suspected he and I had a few things in common, and not just looks. I'd do the same for my friend if I saw he was getting too strung out on his work." He grinned. "That's what I did with Dave." He briefly explained what happened in Miami with the strike. "I think by now he would have been a basket case if he'd stayed. The fresh air and overall general relaxed atmosphere out here makes a difference."

"Funny, I was under the impression that people thought Miami was a place to go to relax on vacation," Michael mused as he stared at the fading sunset.

"That's a joke, right? With all the stuff going on there, day and night...no way is that relaxing." He took a curve and slowed, getting Michael's attention with a gentle nudge.

"What?" He peered through the windshield at the large animal in the middle of the road. "What is that?"

"It's an elk. We get them around here on the road sometimes. They generally stick to the woods, but...these fellas will mess up your vehicle like nothing else if you're not careful. Between the curves and the critters, this road can be dangerous."

"I see."

They waited until the elk decided to move, and Ian pulled away slowly. "The fact that he's out here tells me that spring is really coming. He's on the move looking for food, and maybe a mate."

Michael shook his head. "We are really out of our element here."

"No problem, Mikey. You guys just stick to my place and everything'll be fine."

"You're starting to sound like Sam more and more, Ian. This is getting scary."

Ian laughed. "Don't worry, I have no intention of trying to mimic everything he says and does, unlike Jackie. I'd worry about that chick. By the end of the week you'll think Fiona cloned herself."

As much as Michael loved Fiona, that was something he wasn't sure he wanted to see. He might have to have a little talk with Jackie. Or Fiona. He wasn't sure if she even noticed that the woman hung on her every move, studying her, asking questions trying to get into her head. And Fi obliged her and answered every one. He had to wonder if she got some kind of thrill out of having an actress fawn over her. He was glad things were the way they were between him and Rick. The actor pretty much left him alone, secure in his portrayal of Michael Westen. Maybe because they had the same personality, always appearing cool and on top of things, Rick didn't need to study him. He already had all the material he needed to do his job. Jesse and Tony shared a genuine interest in learning about each other, but it was more on a level of friendship than finding anything that they would find useful in their line of work. They were probably the healthiest of the bunch, so he had nothing to worry about there. Sam and Ian just gravitated towards each other and became like a pair of weird twins, but they each had quirks that didn't jibe, and that made their relationship all the more interesting.

"So, you guys are just going to hang out and relax until someone shows up to try to take you down, right?"

"If this were Miami, I would be working on a plan to flush out our enemies, but here," he sighed and shook his head. "I've gotta be honest with you, Ian. I'm at a loss about what to do."

"Then you just hang out and wait. Like you said, these guys will figure out you're still alive, or at the very least they'll want to check out the debris field and see if your rotting corpses are out there. When they do, we spring into action."

"We?"

Ian glanced at him and grinned. "You didn't think we'd let you handle this all alone, did you, Mikey? We're your friends now."

"Ian, this isn't some TV show. These are real bad guys with real bullets."

Ian shrugged. "So prepare us if you're worried about us being able to handle ourselves. We may surprise you." He paused and flashed a quirky smile. "And just so you know, I have friends in town...friends who are on the lookout for suspicious characters who might ask questions about a plane going down. If they hear anything, they promised to let me know."

"Thanks, Ian. You...you've been a big help." Michael swallowed back the emotion that threatened to come forward. "You and your friends are a real asset to our operation."

"It's good to be an asset." He grinned.

"But it's dangerous. Watch your back."

"That's a given." He winked. "I'd like to think we learned something in six years on this show."

While Michael and his friends hung around the set, assisting with some of the finer points of spy craft that were necessary for the plot line, they watched carefully for unusual activity. At night, they took turns watching the woods with a pair of night goggles that Ian's arsenal friend loaned them. It took four days for someone to come snooping around the wreckage. Sam and Ian were on the night watch when Sam spotted movement up at the debris field.

"I think we've got something," he spoke to Ian through a commlink earpiece.

"Where are you?"

"By the cabin. I've got a straight shot up to the plane. Where are you?"

"I'm on the path flanking the area. I thought I heard voices, so I'm going to check it out."

"Ian, wait for me to get closer. And I'm calling in reinforcements just in case." Within seconds, he had Michael linked up to them. "Mike, we may have something at the crash site."

"Got it, Sam. Fi and I are on our way."

"Okay, I'm starting across the field to back up Ian." He took a roundabout way to get there under cover of the evergreens. Moonlight filtered through a thin layer of clouds, which allowed him to locate Ian as he came around to the woods. Ian gave him a thumbs up.

"Sam, we're coming around by Ian. Cover us."

"You got it, brother."

He saw a flash of movement and noted Michael and Fiona hurrying through the valley. Their jackets helped them blend in with the foliage, but the moonlight glinted off their weapons now and then, just enough to give them away from his vantage point. He hoped that whoever was in the woods didn't see it as well.

"Okay, let's close in now." They created a wedge that slowly clamped down on the area. As they entered the woods, they stepped carefully to avoid making noise. They didn't have to worry. Whoever was in there made more than enough noise to mask their approach.

"They're being awfully stupid about this," Sam whispered. "They've got a fire going. Look at that!"

Michael and Fiona peered through the curtain of tree trunks in amazement. "Stupid or crazy. Proceed with caution."

"Copy." Sam replied.

"Copy." Ian replied. He and Sam entered the crash site at the same time and leveled their weapons at a small group, but Ian spoke first in a voice that said he meant business. "Hold it right there."

They were just kids, five teenagers sneaking out of their homes for a night of fun. Empty, and some not so empty, beer and liquor bottles littered the ground around the small fire. Enough light came from it that they could see the kids' surprised faces.

"Woah man, it's...it's HIM!"

"Who?"

"Ian Benton, man. That guy from Burned...the dead dude movies...Dude!"

"Yeah, well then who's he?" His friend pointed at Sam.

The five kids stood frozen in place glancing back and forth at the two men, not sure if their eyes were deceiving them. "Okay, what was in that stuff?" He held up a bottle of vodka. "I'm seein' double, dude!"

It was all Ian and Sam could do to keep from laughing at them. But they were spared the exercise in restraint when Michael and Fiona joined the party, and the teens got an eyeful of the four. Their audience fell silent, as they gaped at the spies and actor.

Finally, one of the kids, who reminded Ian of Kevin Reeves in the Bill and Ted movie, stepped forward and asked, "What's going on here?"

Ian turned his rifle up and rested the butt on his hip. "I was thinking of asking you guys the same thing. You're on my property."

"Are you really Ian Benton? My dad said you lived out here somewhere, but I thought he was full of it." The Reeves double got closer, even though the spies still kept their weapons trained on him and his friends.

"If I am, so what?" Ian knew he could be putting himself in danger. As he got closer, Ian recognized the kid as a local, but the others... they appeared to be a bunch of punk kids, but who knew if they were for real or just playing a ruse? He wasn't worried. Michael, Sam and Fi had his back.

"Man, I have wanted to meet you for like...forever, man!" He stuck his hand out and was rewarded with the snap of a bolt being pulled back. He glanced at Fiona. "Woah...you know you're even hotter in person?"

"Hey, let's stay focused here, okay?" Ian redirected the kid's attention. "What are you doing out here on my property, at this site?"

"I found this place a couple nights ago and just though it'd be a great place to party." He shrugged. "That's all."

"Well, I don't mean to be rude, but you can pack it up and take your party somewhere else. You've got no idea what you're getting in the middle of...dude."

"Oh...okay, man. Didn't know we were trespassing." The little party picked up their full bottles and prepared to leave. "Hey, can I have an autograph, man?" He held up an empty vodka bottle, label side toward Ian.

Ian sighed. He was known for being accessible and approachable in public, and always willing to give an autograph. But this, this was too weird. "Sorry, I don't have a pen on me right now."

"Okay, maybe some other time." The kid pouted a little as he turned toward the path that his friends took.

"Hey, you wanna make sure that fire is out before you all take off?" Ian tried not to sound too gruff. He'd hurt the kid's feelings by not signing a stupid bottle. "Hang on a second here. I think...yeah...look, I've got a Sharpie here. If I sign the bottle, will you please put out the fire?"

The kid's face lit up like Christmas morning. "You got it! You're the man, Ian!" He frantically kicked dirt over the fire until it was out except for a few glowing coals, which he put out with a jug of something that Ian hoped was water. He handed the kid his signed bottle, and with a hearty handshake, the kid was off into the inky night with his friends, gushing about his original autograph.

When they were out of earshot, Ian chuckled. "I'd like to know how he's going to explain that one to his parents if they see it."

"Ian, that was really dumb." Michael dropped his weapon to his side and came within inches of him. "That kid could have shot you! He could have been a distraction for the real killers coming in here! He could have..."

"Oh cool it, Westen. I know that kid's dad. None of them would hurt a fly. I know the people in this town, Mr. Spyguy, and I'd bet my life that he was harmless."

"Lucky for you, you didn't lose." Michael turned away from Ian, glanced at his friends, and started walking back to the house.

"Well, that was...puzzling."

"He's just worried about having civilians messed up in our problem, that's all," Sam explained.

"The man needs to lighten up."

"Maybe after this is over," Fiona suggested with a smile. "When we have our real vacation." She turned and followed Michael. "We better get back to the house, boys. It's almost Michael's and my turn to take watch."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Having all these people in his house was more than Ian bargained for when he suggested to Dave that he shoot Burned on his property. He was proud of his wife Leesa for being such a good sport about it, because if she'd done this to him, he wasn't so sure he could be so gracious. He hoped that things with Michael, Fiona, Sam and Jesse would wrap up soon. He missed the privacy he sometimes took for granted. One thing that made it less painful was that they got their room back after the trip to town, where he and Michael picked up air mattresses for everyone to sleep on who didn't already have a bed. Michael and Fiona took one, Sam and Jesse each had their own, and the cast members and Dave shared the bedrooms. When Ian returned to the master bedroom, he found Leesa sound asleep on her side. She was warm, snuggled down deep into the covers, and the scent of her body lotion was still strong. Like metal to a magnet, he was drawn to her, and he crawled under the comforter, spooned up against her backside, and slipped an arm around to hold her hand. She made a sound, turned her head and smiled at him in the moonlight streaming in through the curtains.

"I take it your watch went okay?"

"Yeah, nothing major. Just a bunch of kids partying out at the crash site. Otherwise, it was quiet." He nibbled on her earlobe. "But it was just enough to get the old adrenaline going. It was pretty cool."

She chuckled and turned to face him. "Guess you want me to help you burn off some of that energy, eh?"

"That would be nice. Yeah." He kissed her, and she melted into him.

Leesa always knew how to help him relax.

The sound of gunfire wasn't normally a cause for concern because it wasn't unusual to hear shots in the middle of the night. Whether it was hunters or neighbors practicing their shooting skills, guns were not foreign to the area. But this was closer and more intense than anything they'd ever heard before. The window shattered, and Ian and Leesa gasped. He quickly regained his composure.

"Get down on the floor! Get down!" She obeyed, and he rolled off his side of the bed, snatched the rifle that lay propped against the wall, and crawled to the window. Cold air rushed inside, but he wasn't chilled. A rush of adrenaline warmed Ian, but caution kept him from exposing himself to snipers. He hugged the wall near the window and positioned himself to get a view toward the clearing hoping to see the source of the shots. He caught a flicker of light from the barrel of an automatic weapon. A second later, it pierced the wood siding and cut through the wall, missing him by inches. Being left handed gave him a disadvantage, because the only way he had enough room to shoot was if he exposed himself momentarily to squeeze off a couple shots. The man on the lower ground saw him, raised his rifle, and Ian made himself as small a target as possible. Until that moment, his experience with firing weapons came from some training on set and time spent in some of Miami's finest gun ranges. He didn't like them, but in his job they were a necessary evil, so he had a tenuous relationship with firearms. Now everything was on the line. Could he do what needed to be done to protect his home, his wife, and his friends...that was the real question.

He pressed the trigger in a smooth motion and anticipated the kick-back as the gun fired. He missed the guy on the first shot and muttered a curse. The second one hit him in the shoulder, and he went down hard. But he had little time to celebrate, because another shooter came from the southwest and grazed his upper arm with a shot.

"Ian! Get down!" Leesa knelt behind the safety of the mattress, but she peeked over the top when she heard the bullet streak past him.

"I'm fine, honey. Stay down!" He fired a few rounds at the target, but he or she was already gone. "Where'd they go?"

He jumped back as a hand appeared and curled over the window sill. Instinctively, he aimed the butt of his rifle for the knuckles and put all his force into it. A satisfying crack confirmed that he did some damage. But the guy would not let go. So he did it again and the second time the man fell two stories, hit the deck rail, and bounced down to the hill below. From his vantage point, Ian couldn't tell if the guy was dead or just unconscious. He wasn't going to stand around and wait.

As he came around the bed, Ian picked up Leesa's robe and tossed it to her. "Put this on. We're getting out of here." He threw his weapon on the bed long enough to put on a pair of jeans and drag his arms into the shirt he discarded earlier, then he picked up the gun, grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door.

"Wait! Be careful opening that," she advised.

Ian nodded. He listened carefully. There was a lot of commotion on the other side, but it sounded like it was far away. "Okay, let's move." He opened the door a sliver, just to see if it was clear. The hallway was empty. "Sounds like everything's happening downstairs."

"Sounds like I'm going to have a lot of housework in the morning," Leesa joked. Leave it to her to be in the middle of a crisis and come up with something witty. That was one of the things he loved about her.

"Stay behind me."

"Be careful."

"I'll try, believe me."

They moved to the stairs and stepped down to the point where Ian could see the living room. Two bodies lay on the floor, and for a moment, he was thankful that they didn't have wall to wall carpeting. "Lees...you better wait here. Stay out of sight."

"Ian, I think it's time to let Michael, Fiona and the others take care of this. This is their fight, not yours."

He turned a shocked expression toward her. "Leesa, I can't let them down. Would you let our friends get slaughtered just to save our skin? And do you really think they're going to stop with just them?"

Leesa shook her head. "I'm sorry...this is not what I signed up for when you and Dave came up with this crazy idea to shoot here."

"I know. But hopefully this'll all be over soon."

"It will be, once we have Michael Westen and his little band."

Leesa and Ian looked up a few steps to see a tall, thin man coming down to meet them with a menacing looking pistol in his hand. Ian pulled Leesa behind himself and she held onto his shoulders tightly. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"If you want to live, you'll stop asking stupid questions." The man spoke with an Eastern European accent. He pushed the barrel into Ian's stomach just under his ribcage. "Now get moving, or I shoot both of you."

Someone grabbed Ian's rifle and ripped it out of his grip so violently, a piece of the stock cut his hands. He clenched them against the pain, turned, and pressed his hands into Leesa's shoulders to keep her in front of himself as they descended the stairs. He contemplated coming up with a plan to disarm the guy, but he was no expert in self defense, and the gun was against his back in a place where maximum damage would result if it went off. He would bleed out before an ambulance could even get close to their residence. As they walked through the living room, he glanced at the bodies. They weren't people he knew. How many more were outside, alive versus dead? Where were his friends? And how many of the good guys were left? They approached the French doors. They stood open and several of the panes were broken. As they neared the exit, Ian made note of the situation, calculating where he could make a move. Leesa passed the threshold and he pushed her with enough force that she tripped across the deck and ran into the railing. She grabbed hold and stopped her momentum.

At the same time, Ian pretended to trip on the weatherstripping. His captor reacted in surprise, but Ian was faster. He leaned down, picked up a shard of glass, and came up facing him. Before he knew what happened, Ian jabbed the glass into the man's neck. The gun went off as the shock registered on his face and he fell back into the house. Ian's breath hung thick in the cold air as he leaned against the door frame and watched the life drain out of the man.

"Who was he?"

"I-I don't know. Where are Michael...Fi..." He found it increasingly difficult to get his breath.

"Oh no! Ian!" Leesa grabbed and held him as he slowly collapsed onto the deck. She pressed her hand against his side. "You've been shot! Somebody help us! Help!" With each syllable, her voice rose in panic. Feet came running and the deck shook. Leesa screamed.

"Hey, hey, it's okay!" Michael reassured her with a gentle hand on her arm. "What happened?"

"He-he's been shot, Michael."

"No worries, Mikey. Just a...a flesh wound," Ian gasped and winced as Michael touched his side.

"It may be, but it's a hell of a wound, Ian." Michael regarded Leesa. She was in more shock than Ian, and the only way to snap her out of it was to get her on a task. "Leesa, I want you to do me a favor. Go inside and get anything you have that we can use to stop the bleeding, okay?"

"O-okay," she stuttered and shivered as she got to her feet.

"I'll help you," Fiona said as she led her by the elbow around the dead man and into the house.

"Nice work, by the way," Michael praised as he pressed against the wound. "You know, this really is just a flesh wound. Sometimes they bleed enough to make them look worse than they are."

"It may seem like nothing but it...it really hurts."

"It will."

"Where are the others?"

By this time, all the gunfire had died down. Footsteps came up the deck stairs and stopped short of the scene.

"Oh crap, what happened to him," Sam asked as he came forward and knelt on one knee near the two men.

"Got shot taking that guy down," Ian answered and nudged his chin toward the prone body.

"Looks like he got the worse end of the deal," Sam replied and cocked a grin. "Good job, Ian. You did Sam Axe proud."

"I didn't do it for my character. I was just trying to save our butts."

"Half the time, that's all it is, buddy." He patted Ian's shoulder.

While Michael and Sam tended to Ian, the other men took out the bodies and laid them on the cold ground in the valley. They helped Ian inside and sat him on the couch where Leesa held onto him tightly and wouldn't let go.

"It's not that bad, baby," Ian reassured her. "I'll be good as new in no time."

"Not that anybody cares, but this is going to set our shooting schedule back another week, at least."

"Nonsense! I've worked with injuries before, I'll do it again."

"This is not some pulled muscle, Ian. You should go to the hospital!"

"Yeah, Dave, how do you think that one's gonna play there? The cops'll be all over this place in five minutes, and Mike and his friends will have a whole lot of explaining to do. Uh uh, not gonna happen."

"Thank you, Ian." Michael regarded him with a smile that said his respect for the man just grew. "We'll have this cleaned up in no time and we'll be out of your hair, and you can go back to shooting the show."

"But Ian..."

Sam butted in. "Don't worry about Ian. We'll have him patched up good as new." He grasped Ian's arm and helped him stand. "Let's go upstairs and get this cleaned up, and I promise you'll barely feel a thing!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

After being awakened from a deep sleep to an invasion of their home, seeing her husband bleeding profusely from being shot, and hearing his cries as Sam performed some backwoods surgery to repair the wound, Leesa was a nervous wreck. It was something a little sedative could take care of, so Fiona sent her off to an oblivious state thanks to a med kit she found on board the plane, and Jackie helped her put Leesa to bed. Ian lay bandaged and wrapped in warm blankets, riding a similar wave of unconsciousness. Jesse and Tony boarded up the window, and as they worked they tried to keep the noise to a minimum, but it didn't matter. The couple was out for awhile. Neither of them awoke until early afternoon, but they didn't know what time it was because the window was completely blocked off and the room was dark.

Ian carefully unwrapped himself from the coverings and sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and cautiously stood. His side felt as if it were on fire, but otherwise, he was doing pretty good for having been shot. It was something he'd never experienced before and hoped he never would again. He'd stick to guns filled with blanks if he had anything to say about it.

Leesa still slept, so he left her alone, put on clean clothes and went downstairs. The house was deathly quiet. He looked around at the places where he remembered the bodies lay, but they were gone. Even the blood stains were cleaned up, and if it weren't for the faint smell of bleach, no one would ever know that anyone had bled out on his living room floor. The broken panes in the French doors were covered with small pieces of plywood. Only a few bullet holes in the dining room wall were evidence that a firefight had taken place at the house. He never liked the finish on that wall anyway. A little drywall mud and paint, and it would look good as new. He crossed the room into the kitchen, saw the tea kettle on the stove, and checked it to find it was still hot. He poured himself a cup and dunked a tea bag in it, dribbled a little honey into the cup and swirled it around before taking it outside to the deck. He was pleased that the air warmed up considerably from the day before and, for someone used to the climate, a jacket wasn't necessary. Maybe it was a sign of things to come.

From where he stood, he had a clear view of the valley. The bodies were gone. He suspected that Michael and his friends took them to the plane crash. If he were a spy, that's what he would do, and then make it look like they were the victims of a mid-air firefight that led to a crash. Perfect plan, and the real spies could just go off-grid without any questions. Then he and Leesa could have some relative peace and quiet back, and maybe the rest of the shoot would be a bit less dramatic. David came up the incline, saw Ian standing on the deck and smiled and waved at him. Ian returned the gesture, momentarily forgetting about his wound, and he winced as he raised his left hand.

"Nice to see you up and around," David said as he took in Ian from head to toe. "Feeling any better?"

"If you mean, am I ready to shoot? Not today, Dave." A massive breath escaped him and he leaned his elbows on the deck rail. "I think we've had enough excitement for 24 hours, don't you?"

"Yeah." He followed Ian's lead and leaned on the rail. "We, uh...we took the bodies to the crash site."

"I figured that." Ian shook his head. "After doing this show for six, now going on seven, years, I'm starting to think like a spy. It's kinda scary."

"I was thinking the same thing. I'm just glad that what we do is nowhere near as hairy as last night. I thought we were all done for."

"Kind of makes you think that maybe Michael Westen and his friends need a vacation...on the show. Maybe you can write that script and we'll shoot it up here."

David shook his head. "Too much like real life. And anything without what happened last night would be boring. You know it's true."

Ian sipped his tea, swallowed, and replied with a disappointed tone. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Michael, Fi, Sam and Jesse walked two by two up the path from the valley and approached the two men on the deck. "Ian, I just want to say how sorry I am that you all got mixed up in this. We should have left..."

"No," Ian turned to Michael and held up a hand. "I was the one who invited you to stay despite the risk. It was inevitable that the guys who wanted you dead would show up here. It's just that none of us every really understood just how dangerous it could be."

"Still, I shouldn't have let you take that risk. We should have kept going, finish our trip to Seattle."

"At least now you won't have your enemies breathing down your necks," David reasoned.

"They might send another team when the first one doesn't respond. You could still be in danger." Michael's intense eyes bored into them. "If I were you, I'd go back to Miami for awhile. Dealing with a union would be a walk in the park compared to who they send after the first team."

"We'll take our chances," Ian replied. "And we're going to report the plane crash now that there are some victims. Did you make it look convincing?"

"Yeah." Michael smiled. He liked the way Ian thought. "Fi surprised me. She had a little bit of C4 on the plane, and once it detonates, that plane and everything on it will be..."

An explosion interrupted Michael, and they watched a fireball curl up into the sky. It quickly burned up the plane, and Ian worried about the surrounding trees, but the fire remained confined to the fuselage. "Nice work, Fi."

"I've had a little bit of experience." She grinned.

"Once it's burned out, we'll let it sit another day maybe, and then I'll call the authorities, say we were looking for a location to shoot and found the plane."

"What about the kids, Ian?"

"They were so stoned, they probably don't remember a thing. And that kid with the bottle, well, I'll just have to have a little conversation with him, make sure his story matches ours." He smiled at Michael. "Don't worry, we'll take care of it. It'll probably make the national news and reach whoever tried to kill you guys."

"I would get the house fixed up before you call the cops," Jesse suggested as he took in the broken window in Ian and Leesa's room.

David nodded. "No problem, Jesse, we've got it covered."

"No. Before we leave, we fix everything. We're responsible for what happened. If we hadn't stayed here, they wouldn't have come after everyone else too." Fiona was insistent as she said, "Michael, Sam, Jesse. Let's get to work!"

Sam and Jesse borrowed the truck to go into town to get panes of glass to replace what was broken. When someone asked what they needed them for, they explained that they had a little accident on the set and needed to fix a few things. No one looked at them with suspicion, although more than one local gave Sam a second look. They knew Ian Benton, and for some reason, he didn't quite look like himself.

That night they had a goodbye dinner for Michael and his friends, and in the morning they would be gone. No one knew if they would ever see each other again, but if Burned started up production in Miami again, it was a distinct possibility. Despite the short time they spent together, they all felt that they'd forged a bond, so it was a bittersweet goodbye. Ian offered to take them to the airport, but they declined the offer and crammed into a cab. The sun shone brightly on them and the air was balmy as they headed out on the vacation they deserved.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

A month later, with three Burned episodes in editing and a fourth in rehearsals, thanks to no other schedule twisting incidents, David Fox got a phone call. "Murray, please don't mess with me like that...it's really true? This is great news! We'll be back in about a week, just have to wrap up some extra shots...Yes, make sure everything is ready by the time we get back, because I wanna hit the ground running."

"Everybody, let's finish up here in the next two days. We're going to Miami!" A cheer went up from the actors, but the crew was a little less enthusiastic. "Hey, did you think I was leaving you guys here? Anyone who wants to continue working on the show in Miami can come along, if you're willing to sign the same contact as the union...and join the local union." More grumbling followed and David held up his arms. "I'm sorry, my hands are tied in this situation. We don't want to get them upset so they start another strike, and then you won't be able to work at all because we'll be stuck in Miami."

He had a point. Some of them packed up and headed southeast with the cast and David, but most of them bid their goodbyes and good luck to the crew before leaving for home at the end of the day. David was so excited that they were going back to sunny Miami to work in the comfortable warmth. In another month or so, he would probably wish to be back in Oregon, but for now, he was only thinking about tomorrow. That night, he couldn't sleep a wink.

Ian and Leesa locked up the house and gave the keys to a responsible college kid who would keep an eye on the place while they were gone. Usually during a season of shooting, Leesa stayed home. However, this time he was concerned with her being alone, so she accompanied him for the duration of filming.

The hot sun beat down on Ian as he sat in his chair waiting for the next scene to be set, sweating through his undershirt, the only thing that protected him from the wrath of wardrobe. They had a limited budget for his Tommy Bahamas, and he was kept to two a day. Sometimes he stayed in his air-conditioned trailer until they called for him, but he was so glad to be back in the warmth of Miami, he decided to risk the sunburn and a lecture from Theresa. He tilted his phone away from the glare and busied himself with answering tweets.

"Hey, Ian!"

"I'm sorry, Sir, you can't cross the line."

"But I know that guy!"

"Doesn't everybody," the bored guard asked as he pushed his considerable weight around.

Ian broke away from his phone mid-tweet and turned toward the commotion. As he focused on the man who argued with the guard, his eyes widened in recognition behind his sunglasses and a grin crossed his face. He stood, shoved his phone into his pocket, and quickly closed the distance between them.

"Sam! Hey, it's great to see you, man!" Ian shook his hand, held it in his grip, and pulled him past the line created by security. He said, "Come on over here. I know everyone'll be glad to see you. How's M..." He stopped himself from giving everything away and glanced at the guard. "He's okay. He's my...stunt double. New stunt double. For, uh, wardrobe." He returned his attention to Sam and pulled him by the elbow over to craft services. "Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee or something, and you can catch us up on what you've been doing."

"I'd love to, but I was just on my way to meet Mike and Fi. We've got a big job, and I can't really talk about it. I'm just glad to see you're doing okay. How's the war wound?" He chuckled.

"Never better. You did a great job fixing me up."

"Let's just say I've had a little experience." His phone rang. He glanced at it and frowned. "It's Mike. I'm gonna have to go, but hey, when we get this mission done, we've all gotta get together."

"Yeah, sounds like a plan! Thanks for stopping by, Sam. And take care."

"Will do. And you...you make me look good, okay?"

Ian laughed. "You bet." He waved as Sam hurried across the street and quickly disappeared into the crowd. Some of the fans gave him a second look as he passed. Ian himself wondered how often that would happen, now that they knew their real life counterparts existed in Miami.

He didn't have much time to ponder it. "Ian, you're up!"

"Coming!" He grabbed a bottled water from the iced bunch on the craft services table and sauntered over to the set. It was a beautiful day, and he was ready to get back to work.


End file.
